Maggott PI
by Nightscrawlearth
Summary: Japh, put that thing away, or I’ll arrest you for indecent exposure. AU. Maggott for Scrawlerearth. By Steyn.
1. Chapter 1

It was a slow day in the office again. It was a slow day in the office every damned day.

I just finished another bottle of Orina Del Diablo, the cheapest, strongest tequila I could afford. I probably could get something cheaper and stronger, but that meant I had to walk another block to the other liquor store. I was taking my usual one o' clock siesta which lasted about three hours. That fit snugly between my eleven o'clock forty winks and my four o'clock eye rest.

I was recollecting my thoughts on my previous case. Mrs. Marino. The dame thought her hubby was cheating on her. It was a simple Polaroid job. I took some snaps of hubby knocking boots with his secretary, then I blackmailed him for some money.

Unprofessional you might say, but the Fatcat had it coming. Rich bastard should have been more careful not to let the ball and chain know he was getting some the side. After I took the black loot, I gave the snapshots to him through our wonderful delivery system I like to call the post office.

That night, Mrs. Marino got back at hubby for cheating on her, and afterwards I rolled over and gave the remaining shots, the ones I conveniently forgot to mail to Fatcat hubby, to her.

"These are good," She flicked through them, examining them like a letter from Ed McMahon, "this one's at least the house in Beverly Hills worth, maybe some more money for emotional damage too." She held up a picture which showed two figures in a position that would make a yoga instructor ponder.

I woke up around two thirty; the tequila bottle was on the floor. I never got drunk drinking booze. Main reason was that I never put the bottle to my lips. The twins drink for me; I just need the hangover that comes later on to make me feel something. Pain is a good ole buddy of mine, been there ever since the twins came to life.

There was a silhouette on my door's new frosted glass. It just stood there for a couple of seconds, the silhouette, not the frosted glass. There's only two reasons for a person waiting behind my door like that. It's either Bubbles, the hooker who usually takes my money for reasons not mentioned in this fic, taking her panties off; or it's someone who's planning something. Can't be Bubbles, the silhouette's too rotund, so it must be the latter. I don't like people who have to plan before going into a room. It's usually detrimental for my health.

"The door's manual, you'll have to turn the handle to get in!" I yelled.

There was now the end of a wooden baseball bat in the place where my new frosted glass was. Now I'm sure it wasn't Bubbles, she would have used her steel bat.

The door swung open and there stood the Fatcat. All dressed in a rich man's blue suit, made out of more material than a Macy's parade balloon.

He walked in, or in his case shuffled, the two goons he brought along walked.

"You didn't hold up with your end of the bargain." He said.

"And you broke my door's window, I think we can call it even now." I said.

"You slept with my wife." He said.

"You wanna break my desk lamp and call it even?" I said.

"Boys, kill him. And make it hurt. A lot." He said.

Goon A swiped the bat at me and Goon B stuck a knife in my gut. I bled.

When he pulled out the knife, they both looked a little confused at the missing blade.

I struggled standing up. They looked even more confused at the gun I was now pointing at them.

Due to my original way of handling cases, I tend to get a little trouble in my office. That's why I usually keep my revolver under my desk. I would have pulled it out sooner, but it somehow found it's way on the floor before I could show the barrel to my new friends. That mistake rewarded me with a new bellybutton.

I held the wound closed with my left hand while pointing the gun with my right. It was only a show, the wound stopped bleeding when he pulled out the knife. I heal quickly around my stomach area.

"Now boys, I want you to slowly put down the bat and the knife… or what's left of it on the desk."  
They did it.

"Now your wallets."

"We don't keep our wallets on us, part of the job." Goon A said.

"Do you have cash on you?" I asked

"Yes." Goon B said. Goon A glared at him.

"Then on the table with it, that window won't pay for itself."

They pulled a couple of twenties each.

"Good. Behind you I keep those plastic zipper strap things, yes, there, in the drawer. Goon A," I pointed the gun at Goon A, "Cuff your life partner's hands with it, good, now I want you to stick your one hand between his arms and cuff yourself. Goon B, help him out and pull the zipper strap tighter."

"How? I can't reach it like this." Goon B said.

"Be creative, use your mouth." I suggested, I looked at where the Fatcat is standing. Or was standing, he wasn't there anymore. For a big guy, he's really stealthy.

I picked up the phone and dialed my friend Jason. He's a cop, met him in the academy. I usually help him out by throwing a criminal or two his way.

"Yeah hi, it's me, Japh. I got two new playmates for you. Of course they're not free, twenty bucks each. Eighteen? No, the offer stands at sixteen bucks each. Oh all right then, fifteen bucks each. Geez, you're stingier than I am. You want to pick them up? I charge for delivery. Half an hour? All right then, see you."

I put down the phone.

"So, coffee anyone?"

They declined.

"You sure? Apparently I make a mean cup of coffee. Never taste it myself, but I never was the suicide type."

"What happened to my knife?" Goon B asked.

"Yeah, you should be calling the hospital now, there's a blade stuck inside you." Goon A added

"Oh don't worry, the blade's long gone. My boys ate it." I lifted my shirt and showed where he punctured me. The hole was gone, only a little dried blood remained.

"What the fuck?" Goon A blasphemed. "I know, he's a fucking mutant. You're a fucking mutant aren't you?"

"Watch your mouth or I'll have to gag you."

"What happened to my knife?" Goon B reiterated, "That's my favorite knife."

I sighed, "Here, look." I lifted my shirt and let one of the giant maggot creatures that live in me crawl out of my stomach.

"Oh god, oh shit, oh fuck." Goon A added to his swear word list.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

I held up the maggot, "This is Eany, and I think he ate your knife's blade."

There was a knock on the door and a voice, "Good god man, Japh put that thing away, or I'll arrest you for indecent exposure." Jason was peering through the window hole that previously contained glass.

"What happened to your door?"

"Bert and Ernie here mistook it for a ball." I turned away and let the maggot burrow back in me. People tend to be squeamish about these things.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean that's it? That glass was frosted glass, not that cheap distorted glass. Oh, and you'll also find some of my blood on that knife handle, maybe on the bat too."

"What happened to the knife?"

"Those things in him ate it!" Goon A yelled.

"Hey, was I looking at you when I asked the question?!" Jason yelled back.

"My dietitian said I need more iron in my diet." I added.

"Hey, you want to take them in?" Jason's partner asked.

"Yeah, you coming Japh? Still need your statement."

The partner and Jason took the evidence and led the goons out the door.

"I'm coming." I grabbed my wallet and the wad of twenties on my desk; and followed them out. I didn't even bother locking the door. "I'll be back in an hour" I thought.

Boy was I wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

I followed them two cars behind in my old Mazda RX8. It was my pride and joy. I picked it up at the scrapheap three years ago. It was rusted and broken then, but it was something I wanted since I was a kid. I used all my spare change repairing and souping it up, adding a new hydro-drive, installing a net link and a little something everyone shouldn't be without. A plasma charger. I admit it's a little illegal but when you chase someone important, you just need that little oomph to catch up with him or her.

We were about five blocks away from the police station. The squad car stopped at a traffic light, it seemed the goons were arguing about something in the back. After the light turned green they were about halfway across when a Mobil oil truck rammed into it. The truck driver flew out of the window gracefully and landed on the sidewalk, on his face, ungracefully.

I climbed out and it looked like Jason was hurt bad. One of the goons sitting behind him didn't move. The other one sitting behind Jason's partner was yelling his head off. The partner was trying to open his door but it looked stuck. I would have rushed to their aid, if it weren't for the other car that ran into the truck's tank.

I ducked back into my car. The debris of the explosion struck every car in the vicinity.

After half of my hearing came back I looked up to see what was left of everyone. Everything near the truck was burning, that included the remains of the squad car occupants. Some people were crying and screaming in the background. I got out and saw an old couple in the car in front of mine. They were decapitated by a single large piece of metal. I doubt that they included this in their marriage vows. On my left there was a woman holding her child and crying. The child was still alive; the mom was probably in shock. On my right a twenty something mail courier was bleeding at the leg. That would probably hinder his ability to deliver the mail in the future. Nor rain, nor sleet, nor snow, but I draw the line at big explosions. Then I saw something that really shocked me.

The truck driver that did a cement swan dive was standing and watching the squad car burning, talking, probably on his mobile. I had a small hope it would be 911 on the other side of the line, but he just smiled and walked away. I had a hinkering feeling that whoever he was speaking to was also smiling. He walked off down a side street. I tried following him, but the wreckage was in my way.

I turned around and went back into my car. That's when I realized something was wrong, the seat was wet with blood. It started as a dull throbbing pain, and then it became more vivid. My right shoulder hurt like hell. The piece of pipe sticking through me probably didn't help either.

It felt like an hour before any ambulance came stopping by for tea. I probably would have lost less blood just walking to the hospital. The ambulance ride was fun though. I wanted to mention to my doctor how long it took the ambulance to get to me, but I thought twice before mentioning something like that to the guy who was now playing with my shoulder like a joystick.

After I got stitched up I was sent to another room to rest for at least a day there. I laid there for over an hour, going over everything in my head. I turned on the TV and channel surfed until I got something about the wreck. Apparently the truck driver lost control and caused the accident. There were eight casualties. The truck driver, two police officers, two suspects in custody, an elderly couple and a pedestrian who was crossing the street. I was probably just seeing a ghost, but then they mentioned the truck driver burned and died in the truck. I knew this wasn't an accident, I saw him try out for the dive team through the windshield. I didn't have a day to fully heal. I had to find out what happened, who caused this and I had to make them pay.

Besides, the only other thing worth watching on TV was Shark Week or Barbara Streisand's biography. That was enough to push anyone to vengeance.

I slipped out when no-one was looking, which was surprisingly easy. Apparently you become invisible if you don't have medical insurance which suited me just fine, I never liked hospitals, people tend to die in them.

I got to my office. My home away from home. I kept a mini bar there with some water and an old sandwich. In case my heart grew three times big and I wanted to feed a hungry waif. I once tried searching for a hungry waif. I only found a hungry pickpocket and a bunch of hungry little thieves who kicked me in the nuts and robbed me, but no waif. I swore that day that if I ever found a hungry waif, I would beat the shit out of him for not showing up that day and costing me ten dollars and my favourite jacket. The sandwich looked like I was farming penicillin. I threw it in the trash. I don't care that much for food anyway. Besides, it wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted the syringes and bottles of painkillers that I kept in the back. I always keep a batch of painkillers here or at home. Sometimes it gets a bit much when the twins burrow out or in.

I grabbed them, loaded up the syringe and injected my shoulder. At the start of this story I said pain was an old friend of mine, well, even good friends can get irritating at some point. And at this point, my shoulder was painfully irritating.

I went back into my chair and just sat back for a minute. I got out my handheld and went through my contact list. I had to get in touch with Mrs. Marino. Her husband had something to do with what happened today and I was going to get to the bottom of this, even if it is takes me all night to interrogate her. I do love our little meetings.


	3. Chapter 3

I dialed Mrs. Marino's number. The phone just kept ringing, until I got her answering service.

"Mrs Marino, it's Japh Jones, I doubt your memory is so bad, but your hired my services two weeks ago. I want to speak with you about your ex. Please contact me, my number is the same as last."

My laziness told me to wait for her call, but my head said she wouldn't even listen to the whole message.  
I got up from the chair and grabbed my keys, my coat and my gun. Keys. My car.

"Shit"

My car was probably still at the scene. How the hell did I end up back in my office without my car? I remember the accident, the hospital. Maybe I caught a cab. I was drawing a blank. For someone with psychometric powers, the irony is quite blatant. No time to think about it. I had to get to my car and then to the Marino broad.

I called a cab company. Couple of minutes later I was on my way to the "accident scene". The cabbie was a husky fellow, red hair, white as a ghost. I never liked riding in public transport, even in taxis. They had too much history, too many things happen in them. This one wasn't any different. When I concentrated, the inside looked like an overexposed film. Too many people sat where I sat. They silently moved, spoke, laughed, and cried, one man had a heart attack, another man broke off with his girlfriend. And they all overlapped each other.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a memory of a small child sitting next to me. She was looking at me like she could see me. She looked so scared. I knew she didn't see me. She was just the memory that was stuck to this cab. She was probably looking at her mother who sat where I sat. I shifted over to her view and saw what she saw. I understood then why she was so afraid. It wasn't her mom; it was a lean, dark haired, Caucasian male, approximately 35 to 40 years old. He was holding a knife to her leg, out of the cabbies view. This was an old memory. Chances are the child was dead now. Hopefully she got away and the man was arrested.

That was the reason why I wanted to be a cop in the first place. I saw too many people like this, too many people died over and over again in front of me. I wanted to help those people, to get the bad men who caused these memories. But the more you see these things, the more helpless you feel.

I got out my handheld and wrote down his and the girl's description. The least I could do was to check and see if the bastard was caught. I even did a quick sketch of the guy. I wanted to sketch the girl too, but I didn't have enough time. We arrived at the "accident" scene. I put the handheld away and I asked the cabbie to wait for me. I had a bad feeling my car wouldn't be there.

I was right; the place was already cleaned up. No smashed cars, no truck wreckage, just a piece of coloured glass here and there and a dark patch of where the explosion happened. One thing can be said about the mayor, he liked his city clean. My car was nowhere to be seen, they must have towed it to one of the impound lots. I didn't have time to fetch it.

"Hey man, you gonna stand there all day?" the cabbie yelled.

"Yeah, just wait a little, I need to do something."

"Just as long you pay me buddy!"

"Tell you what, here's forty dollars, you'll get the rest when I get back, I need to check on something. I'll be right back."

"Ha, like I haven't heard that before!" and that was all I could hear him say as he sped away.

At least the Goons' money wasn't wasted.

I crossed the street to where the truck driver took a nosedive. I concentrated until I saw the accident all over again. I could only see the history of objects that was near people. The traffic light, the cop car, the truck, the accident, the driver flying towards me and finally the driver doing a ten point landing on the sidewalk.

The truck exploded. The other guy inside was probably still alive. Only way I could explain why the truck was still in focus.

It all looked so unsettling, no loud bangs, just the ordinary noise the traffic in front of me made. No people screaming, just the footsteps of a couple of people walking by me.

I saw the ghost image of the driver standing up. He dusted himself off, took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He took out his mobile phone and speed dialed someone. The conversation happened, then followed by that smile. He turned around and walked into the alley. I followed him.

The alley opened up to another street. The driver hailed a cab and got in. Then they drove off. I concentrated again; the ghost image of the driver came walking out of the alley again. I took a good long hard look at him, and wrote his description in my pda. White hair, white skin, pink eyes and about 6 foot 5, maybe 7 foot tall. No wonder he flew so far, he was a big fellow.

"I will find you." I said to the ghost.

"Dude, you talking to me?" A kid was standing in front of me. The ghost faded away.

"No, my imaginary friend. Shouldn't you be home, doing homework or something?"

"Nah, gramps. I got no home, parents, do you have any money on you? I haven't eaten all day. Maybe some food?"

I clenched my fists and fought the urge to beat the crap out of this hungry waif.

"Scram kid, I don't have time for you."

"Screw you." the kid walked off.

My mobile rang. I grabbed it and answered.

"Japh speaking"

"Hi Japh." It was her.

"Mrs. Marino. I'm looking for you."

"So your message says."

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Ask away."

"In person."

"Oh very well. My place then. I'll tell the front desk to let you in when you get here."

"You sound a little reluctant to see me."

"Not reluctant, darling, just… never mind. Just get here and ask your questions."

"I'll get to you as soon as I can flag down a cab."

"Cab? What happened to that car of yours? I'm pretty certain you handled that thing with more grace than you did with me in bed."

"I misplaced it."

"Ha, you just made my day seem a little brighter. Maybe I would enjoy our meeting after all. I'll be waiting."

Along with the sound of her putting down the phone, tiny drops started landing on my hand holding the mobile. It started raining like it was New York. Quite an achievement for LA.


	4. Chapter 4

The cab pulled up to her building and left as soon as I paid. Cabs are getting too expensive. I'm already missing my car.

I looked up. When I first came here the building's top disappears into the sky above. It was large. Large, tall and ominous. At first, to me, it looked like a cross between a skyscraper, a convention center and a 1930 German architect's dream. And now, it still does.

I came through one of the front doors, the security checked my gun, my licenses, me retscan, T-rayed me, if they didn't stopped there I'm pretty sure they would have pulled out the white gloves and asked me to strip. I sometimes wondered why they never did that whole procedure with everyone walking through the doors. Must be my new coat. They wouldn't have done this if I wore my old coat. My old coat was more conspicuous.

The front desk was overtly large. Gold, silver, marble and granite were its theme. A bit passé for my taste, but what do I know, I live most of my life in an office that looks like it came out of a bad 40's noir film.

The express elevator was fun as always. Felt like I was squeezed an inch shorter. Thankfully the music made up for any excitement the ride was able to achieve. God forbid I have any fun today.

I got out to the 68th floor. Only two doors, one left, one right. Left one was the Marino's place, right one, don't know, and don't care. I knocked on the right door then rang the bell. The intercom next to me popped alive with Mrs. Marino's voice.

"I'll be right with you, Mr. Jones." Mr. Jones? I was pretty sure she was on a first name basis with me.

After a couple of minutes the door opened a crack. It was her.

"I'm sorry, it turns out it's not such a great time to talk after all, can you come back tomorrow?" Something was wrong. She only kept the door open to show half her face, she was speaking completely different than she usually spoke, and the biggest tip-off was the reflection behind her of a very familiar face.

I actually hoped to track him down, not find him out of pure luck. I'm a detective not a damned character from badly written fanfic.

"Please, tomorrow, I just had an exhausting day today." She looked shook up, kind of made me bad of what I had to do next. She wasn't someone that had to be manhandled.

"Are you sure, this will just take a couple of minutes," I tensed my muscles and my skin started to discolour.  
"I can make this real quick, I just need a couple of answers about your husband," my muscles started expanding and the inches I felt like I lost in the elevator came back doubled.  
"Look, I'll just ask one question then I'll leave," my transformation was complete, I felt large and in charge.

She looked worried as she watched me change. Her eyes kept looking to the right, but after I gave a small wink she finally sighed, "Alright, just make it quick." The reflection showed he was moving towards her. I had to make this quick.

"Okay, I wanted to know if you would brace yourself?" I kicked the door open before she could say anything, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the small corridor. She was probably hurt by what I did. Thankfully as hurt as the door was when a bullet went through.

"Get down, stay down and get the hell out of here!" I yelled at her.

"That shit tried to kill me!" she yelled back.

"If you don't get out of here now, he won't miss again."  
She started hitting the elevator's button.

I pulled out my gun and readied myself before moving into the room, taking quick glances around corners, checking anything that moved. The place was quiet. The place was also a mess. Still have to ask Mrs. Marino what Casper was doing here. Oh by the way, I named the white hair, white skin, pink eyes and about 6 foot 5, maybe 7 foot tall guy Casper. It was either that or Whitey, but that wouldn't be politically correct.

My mind shouldn't have wandered like that. The next minute there were a gunshot and I almost grew another nostril. Could have sworn the damned bullet grazed my nose. I wanted to check if I were bleeding but that have to wait. Casper was running into the last bedroom, the master bedroom. I got a shot out before he disappeared around the corner into the room. I was sure I got him in the back.

I came up to the room's door, took off my coat and swung it in front of the open doorway. One of the top ten dumbest things I did today. Casper sure has one heck of a happy trigger finger. I'll mend the holes later.

"Yo Casper! I just want to talk. Listen, I'm putting down my gun then I'm coming in there unarmed."  
It was eerily silent.  
"Okay, I'm doing it now." I tapped my gun on the floor to make a believable sound. Then swung my coat in front of the doorway again. Probably one of the top ten smartest things I did today. There's that trigger finger again. I threw the coat on the floor. I won't be able to mend all those holes.

"Hey, you could have killed me! What's wrong with you? Look, this time I'm coming in for real, and you know why? Because I counted your shots and I know you don't have any bullets left!"

Then came the clicking and snapping sound of ammo clips being switched. Shit.

"Okay, so you got more bullets, so what, it's not like you're going anywhere!"

He started shooting non-stop. Funny enough I couldn't see where he was shooting at. Then came a crash. I took a chance and glanced around the corner into the room. Casper broke the window. The bastard was gonna jump. His back was at me.

I came rushing in, ready to grab him and pull him back from taking his leap. He turned and showed me his pearly whites, raised his gun, and before he got off another shot I grabbed his hand and tried to make him loosen his grip on it. Unfortunately that wasn't his plan on killing me. While I was getting rid of his gun, he grabbed me around the waist and fell backward. Out of the window. Not my fucking day.

I let go of his gun hand and grabbed for the window frame, cutting my hand as I was being dragged outside into the storm. I was now hanging out from the 68th floor window. Casper slid down my body and ended up holding on to my feet. He started yanking, pulling, and even swinging.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Stop it you donner!" I yelled. I tried to get my legs free but Casper had the grip of a gorilla. The blood and rainwater mix started to make me lose my grip. At that moment all I could think of was the ghost girl from the taxi. If she was still alive, or if she was dead. The things you think of when hanging out of a skyscraper's window.

Then I saw the girl standing over me. She looked lonely, scared. Then I realized it wasn't her. My mind was playing tricks. It was Mrs. Marino, and she was holding Casper's gun. It looked like she was going to shoot me.

"I can't see him!" she screamed. She was trying to aim at Casper, but I was in the way.

I grit my teeth, almost roared of the exhaustion and bent my legs, lifting Casper up for her to shoot. She leaned over the edge and shot four times before she got him in the forehead. He let go and fell from sight. I wanted to let go too, but the damned Marino broad wouldn't that happen.

She threw the gun aside and held on to my hands, trying in vain to lift me up. She couldn't have lifted me if her life depended on it. Maybe that was it. Her life did depend on it. She needed me. No, she didn't, I needed her. The warmth of her hands, those damned sweet soft hands. I started pulling myself up, my shoulder felt like it was about to stop working. But I had to, not just for her, but for my buddy Jason, for the people who died in the explosion. For that little girl from the cab.

Next thing I know I'm lying on my back in the bedroom, ready to just close my eyes and take a breather. I didn't have the time. Casper took a pavement nose dive earlier and brushed himself off like he just got up from a chair. I doubt a fall would bother him much, not to mention the bullet that gave him a third eye socket.

"I have to get down there." I said while getting up and grabbing Casper's gun.

"No you don't, the cops can handle his body. Stay here."

"I can't, he ain't dead, yet. I saw him break his face and walk away without a scratch today. He's still alive."

"Please, stay here, I'll pay you. Here take this." She took off her bracelet and stuck it in my hand.

"I'm not taking your jewellery, I'm not taking your money, I have to go."

"I'm scared. My husband is dead, they killed him and all the people working for him, and now they wanted to kill me. Please stay." She was sitting on the bed bawling her eyes out.

I sat down next to her and held her. I was already turning back to my original body size, "Don't worry, they're not going to kill you. I'm going to make sure of that."

"So you're staying?" she almost whispered.

"No. Only way of protecting you is to go after them." I was silent for a moment. Holding onto her, breathing in her perfume. It was so sweet mixed with something else that I couldn't put my finger on. It's a kind of smell that lingers in your memory until the day you die. "So, can you tell me anything about Casper?"

She nodded. "I don't know his real name, but I heard some people call him Tombstone. He used to work for my husband. But about a month ago he just disappeared. And today he showed up at my door and told me he killed my husband, that he killed all the other people. And he has to kill me too."

"Did he say why?"

"No, my husband probably didn't give him a Christmas bonus, what does it matter, the guy's a fuckin' nut."

"It matters, Casper…Tombstone doesn't sound like the type that would make it as an entrepreneur, he's working for someone else. Think, what about your husband's work, did he mention anything to you?" I didn't like it to call the fatcat her husband. I thought she would have gotten a divorce by now.

"God no, he never mentioned anything when he lived with me."

"Lived? So you did have a divorce?"

"No, he's living…. lived in his other place. We separated, but he didn't want to have a divorce. I could have divorced him anytime, but he showed me some photos of me and some other men. Men I didn't know. Damned photos were doctored; they looked more convincing then the real ones you took of him. We made a deal. We lived separate lives, but on paper we were still married. Don't know why, almost seemed like he wanted us to get together again."

She felt something trickle down her arm. "Oh no, your hands," My hands were bleeding. I completely forgot about them. She led me into her bathroom, took out her first aid kit

"You still don't drink, do you?" she asked after cleaning my hands and dressing the cuts.

"Technically no." I doubt if she was satisfied with that answer.

"I'm getting myself something strong." She walked out to her wet bar in the living room. I followed her.

"Do you have anywhere to go? Anywhere to stay 'till this thing blows over? Anywhere safe?"

She nodded while drinking her scotch. "I still own my grandmother's place in Florida, I never told anyone about it. Place is probably a dump by now."

"Good, I want you to pack what you need for a week and don't call anyone when you get there."

"How will I know when things have blown over?"

"Don't worry, you'll know when I see you there."

"Then you'll need the address."

"I'll find you."

And then I left to find Tombstone's body. At least a catchy song was playing in the elevator ride back to earth.


End file.
